


Be Safe

by hufflebucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflebucky/pseuds/hufflebucky
Summary: One night, the Winter Soldier saves you. When the time comes, can you return the favor?





	1. Chapter 1

During pledge drive season, you were always working 12 hour days, inhaling lunch at your desk, and generally doing nothing but sleeping in what little spare time you had. You finally pulled up behind your apartment building, the clock on the dashboard reading 9:30pm on a particularly busy night. You took a minute to sigh into your steering wheel before killing the engine and stepping out of your car. As you stood, you realized you had forgotten you put your phone in your lap. It slipped off your skirt, hit the pavement, and bounced underneath your car.

“Damnit.” You slammed your car door. You just wanted to go to bed. You got down on one knee and attempted to look under your car. The orangey light from the solitary streetlamp didn’t quite reach you. Then you got down on both knees and groped around under your car for the phone. That’s when you heard someone whistle.

“That’s a nice view, baby.” You heard a man’s voice behind you. There was a smile and a threat in his tone, and the hairs on your skin rose. You immediately stood.

“Please don’t call me that.” You turned, and you were confronted with a man with close cropped hair, wearing a dark coat, too bulky for the season. You couldn’t make out his features in the dark.

“You don’t like being called ‘baby’?” the man asked.

“Not by you.” You were about to scream for help when the man closed the distance between you and clamped a hand over your mouth. Fortunately, you still had your key fob in your hand, and you pressed your car’s panic button. The car’s alarm began to blare. You slammed your heel down on the man’s foot.

He grunted and took his hand off your mouth. “You’ll pay for that,” he says. As he wound up to take a swing at you, something black sped by, knocking the man over. What was a black blur then stood still, a silhouette just outside the ring of light from the streetlamp, while the man on the ground scampered to his feet. As he attempted to run away, the man in the shadow gave him mighty kick in the rear, sending him stumbling forward into the night. You listened as his footfalls grew faint.

By this point, you had slid down the side of your car and sat on the ground with your back against the car door. Tears began to fill your eyes, and the world blurred.

“It’s okay now.” The man in the shadows approached, and as he entered the ring of orange light from the streetlamp, you could see he was dressed in all-black tactical gear, and his left arm was metal with a red star on the shoulder. He squatted down next to you, but you were too afraid to move even to look up at him. He simply reached down for the key fob you dropped and turned the car alarm off. You must have flinched at his words because he said, “I won’t hurt you.” He held your keys out to you.

“Thank you.” You took your keys back from him with a shaking hand. You bent your legs and tried to stand, but your knees were weak. You collapsed back onto the pavement.

The next thing you knew was this strange man with the metal arm, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you, bridal style.

“Apartment 3C,” you whispered, as you looped your arms around his neck. For the first time, you realized he was wearing a mask that covered the lower half of his face up to the bridge of his nose. Had you not been so drained and half delirious from your ordeal, you might have been afraid. You could see his eyes were a cold, steely blue when the wind swept his hair away for a moment. You stared at his mask, noticing the weave of the strange material, as he carried you up the stairs to your apartment.

“Can you stand?” he asked. The mask only muffled his low, gravelly voice a little bit.

“I could try,” you said.

Slowly, he lowered your legs to the ground, and your knees buckled. You slouched to the ground, leaning against his legs. You just couldn’t move.

“I need the key,” he said quietly. Were you really going to let this strange man into your house after some other strange man just tried to attack you? Did it matter? You were helpless anyway. He did save you once, and you gave him at least that.

You feebly held up your keys to him. “It’s the silver one.” You watched him find the silver one and stick it in the lock and turn the deadbolt. He scooped you up off the ground again and carried you into your dark kitchen. He sat you in a chair.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

That was a good question. Adrenaline was still coursing through your blood, so you might not have even known if you were hurt. You checked out your legs. There were some little scratches on your knees but nothing more.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said.

He placed the keys on the counter and turned to leave.

“Wait,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He stopped walking but didn’t quite turn around. 

You sensed his hesitation. “But you can go if you want.”

He stepped forward and closed the door. He turned around. His face was still in shadow.

“Do you mind turning on the light?” you asked. The light switch was right next to the door, at his elbow. He flipped the switch.

What struck you as the most disarming thing about this strange man in your kitchen wasn’t his all-black tactical gear or even his metal prosthetic arm. It wasn’t the black mask that went up to the bridge of his nose but the intense blue eyes that gazed out over the mask.

The shock of everything hit you all at once. “What the–?” You started and, already a bit wobbly, you fell out of your chair.

The man came to you in a flash and braced your shoulders and cradled your head before it hit the floor.

You looked up at him. “Thank you for saving me out there.” You reached up to brush your fingers against the mask, but he grabbed your hand.

“Will you take this off?” you asked.

The man shook his head.

“Can I at least know your name?” you asked.

“I should go.” His voice was quiet. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I think I’m fine,” you said.

He helped you to your feet, and you collapsed back into the chair. “Can you stay for just a few more minutes?” you asked. “I just can’t be alone right now.”

He stood and watched you silently.

“I need someone,” you said slowly, “to hold me.” Tears finally began to roll down your cheeks. Soon, you were being racked with sobs, holding your face in your hands.

“Shhh.” He was kneeling at your side. You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes, not quite able to let him see you crying like this. You watched as he slowly raised his flesh hand. He reached it around your back, gingerly placing it on your shoulder, and he pulled you into his chest. He smelled like leather and faintly of sweat. He wrapped his metal arm around you too. It was cold and unyielding, but it didn’t hurt.

You let your head rest on his shoulder and continued to sob into the crook of his neck, burying your face in his soft, brown hair. Slowly and jerkily, he stroked your back with his flesh hand, as if this was something he’d never done or hadn’t done for years.

“Thank you,” you said into his hair. “I just really wish I knew your name.”

“It’s not safe for you to know,” he said. “I have to go now.”

“Okay,” you said. “Thanks for staying a little longer.” You sat up straight in your chair, breaking your embrace with the man. You looked up into those piercing, blue eyes and knew they were unforgettable. Whatever his face might look like didn’t matter. You knew him by his eyes.

He walked silently to the door and opened it. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” you said, unable to lift your arms from the kitchen table. You fell asleep at the table, almost as soon as the door closed.

\- - -

The whole thing was so strange that it may as well have been a ghost story or a dream. You didn’t tell anyone. Who would have believed you anyway? So, you spent the next couple days avoiding texts from your friends and being uncharacteristically quiet at work, just keeping your head down and focusing on your work to get your mind off the man in the mask, with those blue eyes, who had held you to his chest while you cried.

But work was not enough to get him off your mind. The scent of him, the smoky leather from his clothes—it lingered in your mind. It was Friday night, and you decided you would finally join your friends. You were putting in your earrings when you heard a knock at the door. Odd, you thought. You were supposed to meet your friends downtown. No one was supposed to be picking you up.

You hurried to the door. “Coming!”

When you opened the front door, you recognized him immediately by his eyes: the man who had saved your life. He was wearing the same black leather tactical gear and sporting a metal arm, but he was soaked to the bone. His hair hung in damp strands around his handsome face. His mask was gone, revealing his square jaw and refined cheekbones. He was truly beautiful. But he was also bleeding. He had a cut on his forehead, and he was holding his side.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “I’m sorry, but I had nowhere else to go.”

“Yes, come in.” You opened the door for him. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he said as he limped slightly into your house.

You quickly closed the door behind him. “Have a seat.” You pulled out a chair for him at the kitchen table. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit.” You ran to the hall closet where you kept all your medicine and the first aid kit. You laid the kit out on the table and found the alcohol wipes. You tore one open.

“This might sting.” You gently dabbed at the cut on his forehead.

He didn’t even flinch. He just took a tentative look up at you, eyes flitting to yours and then away. You did your best to smile warmly at him, as if this wasn’t another strange apparition in your kitchen.

He blushed and looked away. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s the least I could do for your saving me the other night.” You pretended not to see him blush. Although, the pink in his cheeks brought out the rosiness of his full lips. Despite his stern brow and hardened bearing, his eyes were soft now, and his lips looked soft. You noticed yourself noticing and cleared your throat.

“What happened to you, anyway?” you asked.

“There was a man,” he said. “I think I knew him, but we fought.” He looked down at his mismatched hands. He didn’t look exactly like he was going to cry, but there was sorrow in his eyes that wasn’t there the other night.

And you felt compelled to kiss him. First, you kissed him on the forehead. He looked up at you, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. You leaned in again, and this time, he met you halfway, reaching up with his flesh hand to the back of your head to pull you in closer. He tasted salty, like sweat. You crawled onto his lap, and the two of you kissed again, this time deeper, moaning and gasping for each other like air.

You broke the kiss. “Can I know your name now?” you asked.

“I think it’s especially not safe for you to know now.” He hoisted you off his lap. “I really need to go now.”

“Really? But—” you began.

“Trust me.” He got up from the chair. “Maybe one day I can explain everything to you.”

“One day?” you asked.

He was already at the door. “I’m really sorry.” He looked at you one last time, his eyes sadder than ever.

Then he was gone, and you locked the door behind him.

He never came back to visit you, and you didn’t really expect him to. But every few months a postcard would arrive for you from faraway cities, like Istanbul, Buenos Aires, and Marrakesh. They always said, “Be safe,” and they always made your stomach flip. You held on to a glimmer of hope, but nothing more. You were just happy to know he was still alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Just when you had put him out of your mind for a moment, another postcard would arrive, and those two words would consume you: “Be safe.” You were pretty sure of all that he meant to say in just those two words. He was saying, “Protect yourself.” He was saying, “I still care about you.” He was saying, “I wish I could be there to make sure nothing ever happens to you.” With two words, he held your heart hostage. He had saved you. He was your deliverance. You could still remember the way he tasted, his mouth, the salt of his sweat. And with those two words, he was saying he felt the same way, that he was nowhere close to forgetting you.

But what good was just repeating these two words to you over and over? It didn’t make sense until the day he returned. One unusually warm evening in autumn, he arrived on your doorstep with nothing but a backpack. He didn’t say anything when you opened the door, just crushed you to him with a hug. This you weren’t expecting.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” You let go to usher him into your apartment and closed the door behind him. “Please, sit down. Can I get you a drink?”

“Just water, please.” He let his backpack slump to the floor as he collapsed into a chair at your kitchen table. He looked exhausted.

You poured him some water from a pitcher you kept in the fridge. You didn’t really know what to say, so you silently filled the glass and placed it front of him and sat in the chair opposite him.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s just been so long. And I still don’t know your name.”

He sighed. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”

“The Howling Commando? Best friend of Steve Rogers? He died, though,” you said, “in World War II. That’s not even possible.”

Bucky explained everything that happened to him, from the moment he blearily awoke on the operating table to dragging his best friend out of the river. It was a lot to take in, but you quietly absorbed his story.

“I committed atrocities,” he said. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me.”

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. It wasn’t you. Your mind was not your own at the time. Plus, I think I know the man who saved me. He would never harm anyone. Bucky.” You smiled at him and waited for him to look at you.

He finally lifted his eyes from his twiddling thumbs and caught your gaze. He smiled back. “Did you get my postcards?”

“Of course,” you said. “I saved them all.”

“You did?”

“And I want to hear about what each place is like.”

“How much time do you have?”

“For my hero, Bucky Barnes? I have all the time in the world.”

He grinned. “Which place do you want to hear about first?”

\- - -

You talked late into the evening, so you told him he could spend the night.

He was reading one of your magazines under a blanket on the couch when you stepped out into the living room. You pulled our robe tight around yourself. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you said. “There’s plenty of room in my bed.” You could feel your cheeks burning.

He looked up from the magazine. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m positive.”

He flung off he blanket and followed you into your bedroom.

“You don’t have to sleep in your clothes.” You were probably blazing pink at this point. You let your robe fall to the floor and slipped into bed. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt. “Nothing’s going to happen,” you assured him. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

He got undressed quickly and joined you in bed in just his underwear. You turned off the light and sunk back into bed.

Bucky rolled onto his side to face you. “Thanks for letting me stay here tonight.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to.” You wiggled close to him and nestled yourself next to his chest. He rested his chin on your head and wrapped an arm around you. You felt safe for the first time in a long time.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said. “I hardly know you, but you’re the reason I’m alive. I fought to stay alive so I could come back to you some day.”

“Wow.” That was all you could say.

“I know that’s a lot,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I was going to say when we met again.” He laughed lightly, and you felt the slight rumble in his chest.

“Honestly, your postcards gave me life.” You placed your hand on his chest. “I’m so glad you’re back. Don’t ever go away again.”

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.” You fell asleep to him stroking your hair.

\- - -

The next morning, you woke up, and Bucky’s side of the bed was empty. You wondered if he had to run again, and your heart began to pound. Then you heard noise coming from somewhere in the apartment: something metal clanking on a burner and a curse word. You wrapped your robe around you and hurried into the kitchen. Bucky was standing in front of the stove, his finger in his mouth.

“Is everything okay in here?” you asked.

He pulled his finger out of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

You walked over to him and inspected his injured finger. There was a little angry red mark on his pointer finger. “You should run this under cold water.”

He ran the cold water tap and held his finger under the water. You peered into the frying pan he had on the stove: pancakes! “This is so sweet,” you said.

Bucky reached over and flipped off the burner. He hooked his arm around your waist and pull you to him. He brushed the hair out of your eyes. “I just wanted to show my thanks for your letting me stay here.”

“You could kiss me,” you said. “Wait! Let me brush my teeth first!”

Bucky laughed and let you scamper off.

\- - -

“I want to tell you about the most beautiful place I know,” Bucky said.

You slowly leaned your back into him, careful not to spill your wine. You had bought an expensive bottle to celebrate a month of living together.

“Okay, lay it on me,” you said.

“It’s a pink house on the coast of Italy, in a tiny village somewhere between Genoa and Savona.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It’s just a short walk from the beach. I’ve always wanted to go back there.”

“The beach sounds nice.”

“Will you come with me? We could eat pasta all winter, and then we could swim it off in the summer.”

You strained your neck to turn and look up at him. His ocean blue eyes were locked on yours, entirely serious.

“You want me to come with you?”

“Of course. I love you.”

It was the first time he had ever said that, and though you believed him, you were shocked. You had never imagined your life would look like this, that you would be harboring a former brainwashed assassin and that he would come to love you. You never really expected anyone to love you.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” He tried to laugh, but you could hear the air hitch in his chest.

You pulled away from him, and sitting on the very edge of the couch, you lost your balance and tumbled to the floor. You tried to catch yourself with your hands, but one of your hands was holding a wine glass, which shattered under your weight. Luckily, most of it didn’t couldn’t hurt you through your thick sweater, but a small cut on your palm was beginning to blossom with blood.

“Ouch.” You pressed your other hand to the cut to stop the bleeding. “Bucky, can you grab the first aid kit? Or get me a towel?” You looked up.

Bucky was standing, and you were caught in his thousand mile stare. The blue of his eyes seemed to grow darker and duller. He was looking at you but didn’t quite seem to focus on you.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, just charged at you where you were lying. You scrambled backwards, smearing blood on the floor. He lunged at you again.

“What’s going on?” You jumped to your feet and dodged him again.

Saying nothing, he stalked after you, and you began throwing whatever you could get your hands on. He swiped the heavy books you threw right out of the air with his metal arm. You ran into the kitchen and grabbed the frying pan out of the sink. You held it in front of you and squared off with Bucky.

“Buck, you’re scaring me.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop. I know this isn’t you.”

He stepped forward, and you swung the frying pan. He snatched it out of your hand, tossed it aside, and grabbed at your throat. You caught his hands. He pushed you back against the kitchen table. You fell on your back, and he pinned your wrists above your head with his metal hand. His other hand went for your throat again. You brought your knee up to his groin, and he stumbled back, releasing your hands.

“Please stop!” You slid off the table and landed on your feet. Tears were blurring your vision. Bucky was down on one knee, breathing heavily. He looked up at you, furious, looking nothing like the man who just invited you to run away with him.

“Stop it!” You sobbed. “I know this isn’t you. I love you!”

Bucky’s head dropped for a moment. He looked around and then up at you, blinking. His face fell when he saw your expression. “Oh my god, what happened?”

You laughed. “I knew you were in there.” The room turned on its side as you blacked out and fell to the floor.

\- - -

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you woke up in your bed. Your hand stung, and it reminded you of everything that had happened. Bucky must have put you in bed, but where was he?

“Bucky.” Your voice was weak and croaky. “Where are you?”

You leaned up on one elbow and looked around in the silent semi-darkness. There was a glass of water on the nightstand with a folded note leaning on it. You snatched the note and read it.

Y/N,

I had to leave because I can’t risk hurting you again. I love you too much to put you through that again. Just know that I’ll always love you.

Bucky

“That idiot,” you said through your tears. Apparently he didn’t know that it was because of your love that you were kept safe.

\- - -

It didn’t surprise you when, in a few weeks, you received a postcard from Bucky. It also didn’t surprise you that all it said was “I love you,” as if that was the only thing that mattered, as if he hadn’t broken your heart. When more postcards began to arrive, this didn’t surprise you either. He never apologized, and you figured that was because he thought what he did was beyond forgiveness. But you knew it wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t him. Your love was able to bring him back and could do it again. If only you had the chance to tell him that, to convince him.

You would have lost hope if it didn’t keep getting the reminders of his love in the mail. Finally, in the spring, you received a postcard that was different. It just said, “Join me for a swim?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Any feedback is totally appreciated.


End file.
